


the Christmas Gift

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Merry Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 08:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2805671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A gift for my dear, sweet Sarah. Merry Christmas, babe!</p>
    </blockquote>





	the Christmas Gift

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for my dear, sweet Sarah. Merry Christmas, babe!

“Doctor, hurry up, or we're going to be late!” Clara called, pulling a souffle out of the oven.

“We've got a time machine, Clara,” he called back, voice muffled behind the closed door. “We'll never be late.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting to leave on time. It's not like we're going to Christmas dinner or anything like that.”

The Doctor sighed. “Clara...”

She put the souffle down on the counter and walked over to the door. She tried the handle and found it, as expected locked. “Come on! You want to make a good impression, don't you? I mean, after what happened last year...” The Doctor was uncharacteristically quiet, still refusing to open the door. “Hey, Doctor,” Clara started. “Doctor. Doctor, Doctor. Doctordoctordoctordoctordoctordoctordoct-”

“Fine!” the Time Lord shouted in exasperation, throwing open the door.

Clara could barely choke back a laugh. Gran had sent over Christmas presents the night before, and while the scarf she received had been more or less what she wanted, the Doctor had been less than pleased with his gift.

“Why do people have to give Christmas _sweaters?_ Why couldn't they give Christmas hats or Christmas bow ties? Why does it have to be ugly, Christmas sweaters?” he complained, walking back into the room and frowning at himself in front of a mirror. “Look at this; just look! This collar, it's huge! And the deer! And it's _itchy!_ ”

“Oh, stop fussing,” Clara said, following him to the mirror and wrapping her arms around him. Standing on her tiptoes, she rested her chin on his shoulder, meeting his eyes in the reflection. “You look fine.” The Doctor pouted, and Clara smiled. She knew she was winning him over. “Really you do,” she insisted, giving him a peck on the cheek before drawing away. “Now come on. We're going to be late.”

“We won't be late,” the Doctor muttered, following her out of the room.

 


End file.
